Paradise is of the option
by jomiddlemarch
Summary: Ross recognizes something he has left undone but not the consequences.


The first few weeks after the hasty wedding had been so unremarkable Demelza had to hold her hand up to look at the gold ring Ross had put on her finger, to remind herself it had happened, that they had stood before a man of God and promised each other everything. She had made her vows with her whole heart and she was satisfied that a fine gentleman like Captain Ross Vennor Poldark, a name she now knew and repeated to herself like a Papist at prayer, had meant enough when he said his own, enough for the likes of her, a maid hired at the fair, of a no-account family. Prudie glowered a bit more for the first days, but when she saw nowt was much changed, no new airs for the new mistress, she settled down and Jud had barely noticed, so it seemed. They'd had no callers save Miss Verity to use her new name and Ross's cousin was such a dear, kind lady Demelza had invited her to call her by her Christian name almost immediately. She cleaned Nampara and cooked the meals, dealt with the livestock and a little gathering, berries and some herbs, wildflowers for the table, and took Garrick to scramble about in the surf. His life had surely changed for the better as she felt more disposed to give him a bone for his dinner, less concerned that the master, Ross she was to call him since they'd married, would grudge the cur who'd been her first love.

She tried to please Ross however she could—she wore a clean apron when she served him and tried to dress her hair with her unskilled hands, tucking a sprig of heath or sea pink in the curls tied back with a bit of ribbon, kept her face and hands washed and made sure the dinner was hearty, hot and served with plentiful ale and a fresh loaf, the fire stoked and a pair of candles lit, their wicks trimmed for a clear, unwavering light. She had a natural interest in him and his various endeavors and he'd made it clear when he welcomed her questions and when she was to give way, so she chattered as she would and then was quiet over mending while he nursed a sweet-smelling pipe in the sitting room. She waited for him in the bedchamber in her shift, somehow sure she should not make him recall that first night with the silk gown fallen from her like a butterfly's chrysalis, that madness they'd shared, his hands on her body and hers holding him to her through hours she blushed to remember. He'd taken his pleasure with her every night, though perhaps with slightly less ferocity, and greeted her every morning with a lingering kiss to her bared shoulder or her temple, wherever he could more easily reach; that was when she felt most his wife and mistress of Nampara, least a disappointment, an incontrovertibly inferior replacement for Ross's desired bride.

Tonight had been different, some light in his eyes she hadn't recognized. Jud had been more like an enormously overgrown bucca than ever before and she'd not noticed when Ross began watching her give the old goat a tongue-lashing that cut through the fug of alcohol round his head. She'd doused him with the washing water and then Ross had shouted with laughter, so clearly pleased with her than she couldn't keep the scowl at being so caught out on her face and a small smile had taken its place. He'd asked a question or two at the meal about where she'd found gorse growing, whether she'd like to take the small boat out alone when the weather was clear, and praised her for the meat pie as if he'd never had one before. After dinner though, he'd been quiet, the smoke curling around his face, distant again and she tried not to show her dismay at his retreat into memories or dreams that had no place for Demelza Carne.

His love-making had been much the same, his hands gentle on her neck and loosening her hair, confident cupping her breasts, running over her bare legs once he'd taken the shift from her. His eyes were shadowed, she could not make out his expression that well, but his kiss tasted the same, of ale and desire, and if there was little overt tenderness, there was at least a sense he was still gratified to feel her beneath him, pleased that if he had not married a gentlewoman, his wife did encourage him to seek his pleasures with her and might soon enough carry his babe. She'd been startled to feel his mouth at her breast, suckling where she'd only ever expected to feel their child, but it had sent a thrill through her and she hadn't been able to resist arching up into the warmth, her hand at the back of his head, combing through the dark curls at his nape. She'd seen a roguishness in his glance as he looked up at her, but he had been quick to move against her, his quick hands stroking along her sides, reaching to her bottom, teasing and demanding. She'd already learned that was his way, how it meant he wanted her to open her legs and let him settle there, his back a plane of lean muscle gilded by whatever light there was, silver if it were only the moon upon them, gold from candles, the hearth, a wick floating in a dish of oil. It was easy now to feel him stroke his cock inside her, pleasant to be filled and most satisfying to hear him moan, growl a bit in a register lower than his regular baritone, before he began to move, seeking a completion he was sure to achieve while she held him. She liked to feel the smoothness of his skin beneath her hands, the tickle of the curls scattered across his chest as they rubbed against her breasts, already grown a bit fuller from the regular meals she took with him. She liked the smell of his sweat as he slid along her, the fresh salt air and the fragrance of meadow broom in his hair from his riding. And then he shifted, moving so his mouth was beside her ear, and he eased a hand under her hip, changing the angle between them and something else…

"That's it, isn't it? Now you see, now you begin to know why…why I think about you all day, riding to the mines, working in the fields, I think about taking you in this bed and your lovely body, but I haven't been a proper husband, no," he murmured in her ear and she felt some new heat, an urgency in her fingers to stroke him, her mouth hungry to take or give him kisses, and his cock within her was no longer pleasant, but necessary, she must cry for it, for him, when he pulled back, gasp with each new caress he gave with his return to her.

"This you haven't had, I was lazy, I thought only of my own appetites, but you have your own, don't you, love? Whatever you thought, it will be better, you are delicious… Demelza, lift your hips, let me," he said, stroking one hand between them, where she was parted and filled by him, fondling her so tenderly and so certainly, she pulled him closer, she must, wrapped her leg around his so he would not leave her wanting.

"Yes, that's right, I'm going to show you, to give you such pleasure, what you have already given me…what a sweet quim you have, I'll kiss you there, but not now, not when you've taken my cock so well, so lovely… you belonged to me before, didn't you, when this was more duty than passion, but now, how you'll be mine when you've learned how good it is, that's right, love, you want more?" He'd spoken on and on, his voice making love to her mind, her soul itself, as his hands and his hard, full cock had touched her so many, wonderful times, each the pinnacle until the next, and she'd no words for any of this, could only breathe his name _Ross, Ross, oh_ until he'd thrust again and his hand upon her, delicate and insistent, had made something break inside her, like the sun across the sea, a feeling so fierce she'd cried aloud and he'd smiled, his mouth feral but his eyes something else, some foreign hint of adoration, and he'd redoubled his efforts till he collapsed in a few moments, spending, shouting _Yes!_ and _mine_ , as if that had ever been a question.

She'd thought she loved him before but now Demelza knew she had been mistaken, as if she mistook the bud for the blown rose with its scent magnified by the July sun, the brazen spread of red petals. What he felt for her seemed to be more than she'd imagined, but she knew she was still not the woman he'd spent years dreaming of; that he'd wanted her to be even more in love with him was a surprising delight, as much as what he'd just evoked from a body she'd never comprehended the capabilities of.

"That was what it should be, now you're my wife in truth," Ross said where he lay beside her, the sheet tangled at his feet; he drew her back to him and her warm skin wanted his already, her thighs wet but only with his seed and not her virgin's blood. "You enjoyed yourself, I think? Demelza? You must tell me, because I don't like to be wrong," he added, dragging a lazy finger down her side, where her waist dipped and her hip flared, the fine crease of her thigh against her belly.

"Yes, si—Ross. I hadn't known a body could, I could…feel so, to be your wife and still, I felt like it couldn't be quite proper-like. But 'twas, 'twasn't it, for you said so, God blesses us to… do this," she managed. She knew she mustn't say everything in her heart, how she found she loved him so much more now that he had made such efforts to please her, had shown her how wonderfully made she was, in herself and for him, her strength and warmth and the silky softness of her secret parts all miracles she'd never have guessed. What she'd said had been right though, for he chuckled, tired but content, would soon enough draw up the sheet and the coverlet he'd kicked away in his intensity.

"Well, I'll not speak for Lord God Almighty, but there are more things in heaven and earth, they say, and I can't see we're made for this to eschew it. Now you'll sleep and the next time I reach for you, I expect you'll be more eager, now you've had your due," Ross replied, pulling her to nestle against him and she rested her hand on his chest where she could feel his heart, could pretend he'd say how it beat just for her.

She was sleepy now, a glorious, rich languor over all her limbs and deep in her belly, but she knew he hadn't understood; she would be eager, not because she sought her own pleasure alongside him, but because she would find hers within his, his attentions and his knowledge of her, his sensitive hands that wouldn't need to demand since she would be giving him everything. He mustn't know that, Ross didn't want things too easy or more than he'd planned for, but she was content to keep that truth hidden in her heart and she knew that was as God wanted, grown familiar with His ways even before her father had taken to preaching at the crossroads and the by-way. Ross slept already, so young in the darkness, so handsome, the etched worries of the day polished by the night and his reveries. Demelza hoped she would wake before him, to watch his eyes open to the day and give her a boyish, dozy grin at the sunrise brightening the window, her hair with its own corona, for once easy as the lady of Nampara.


End file.
